


Chuck vs. the Valentine

by Crumby



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Espionage, F/M, Humor, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:38:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crumby/pseuds/Crumby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An arms dealer, a businessman, and a chemist walk into a hotel ballroom; what follows isn't a joke, but the start to Team Intersect's never-before-seen 2008 Valentine's Day adventure. Full of fancy appetizers, eventful elevator rides, and a very particular weapon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to **BDaddyDL** for his pre-reading and to **[mxpw](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mxpw999)** for beta reading this story for me.

"So, lover boy, what are your plans for the evening?"

Chuck Bartowski, Nerd Herd supervisor, spun slowly around inside the Buy More aisle where a customer had just left him. He narrowed his eyes at the green shirt salesman, who smirked in return. For the next three seconds, Chuck contemplated a life without John Casey tormenting him. Considering how many times the NSA agent had saved his life ever since Bryce Larkin—Chuck's former college roommate/CIA operative—had sent him the Intersect, a life without John Casey would in all likelihood mean that Chuck was dead. So he dismissed the thought quickly and looked around; nobody was in earshot.

"You don't know?" Chuck asked Casey in a serious tone. "I thought Sarah told you. It's all cleared up with G-Becks and Grah'ms." The big guy wouldn't care about the CIA Director, but shortening General Beckman's name was always an assurance to irritate Casey. "I'm taking to dinner a woman that I've met without your knowledge," he went on, " _and_ who can't in any way officially be my girlfriend—because I have a CIA cover girlfriend—but she's totally okay with that. We're going to a restaurant where we can have no privacy whatsoever, you know, being monitored by the government for the entire evening and all. Monitoring, that of course, includes said cover girlfriend and her charming NSA partner. That's you, by the way. Because spending V-Day dinner with you listening and watching my every move is just my idea of fun, Casey."

Chuck's NSA handler grunted—and scorned. "V-Day, eh?"

Naturally, that's all Casey would say. Chuck rolled his eyes.

"You done, Bartowski?"

"Are you?" Chuck trudged back toward the Nerd Herd desk. With Anna having the day off and Skip gone on an install for the majority of the day, he couldn't wait for the—albeit slow-going—day to end. Where the hell had Jeff and Lester disappeared to this time? On Valentine's Day? Surely Chuck's colleagues didn't have plans. No plans that any women were aware of, at least.

Chuck didn't have plans. Casey perfectly knew that. It wasn't a surprise; Chuck hadn't had Valentine's Day plans for the past five years, aside from that one time Ellie had tried to set him up with a pretty brunette doctor from the hospital. She'd never called him back. He didn't blame her; he'd been a total bore. In hindsight, the doctor hadn't been that interesting either. This year, however, his lack of plans annoyed Chuck more than he expected.

"Tux's waiting in the home theater room," Casey said, trailing behind Chuck. "We're leaving as soon as your shift's over."

That hadn't been the sort of plans Chuck had hoped for. It might kind of be, but… "And where are we going, pray tell?"

"Walker's stopping by to brief you," Casey replied.

"Oh?"

"Brief you on the mission," Casey said, as though Chuck had insinuated anything. "Don't get any ideas."

_I hadn't!_ Chuck thought.

"Be ready on time." Casey left.

How come Casey could leave? Where was he going? NSA agents had all the luck, Chuck decided. He changed his mind instantly because, as announced, Sarah appeared at the main entrance in her Wienerlicious uniform. _Fine_ , he had to admit to himself, as far as cover girlfriends went—and cover girlfriend's cover job uniforms—Chuck had indubitably lucked out.

"Busy day?" his CIA handler asked when she reached him, amused. He'd been staring as she approached. Again.

Chuck averted his eyes and tried to shrug innocently. "Um, what's that I hear about tonight?"

Though he hadn't seen any of his co-workers around, Sarah leaned on the desk to greet him the way a real girlfriend would. Chuck met her halfway to smooch a kiss. Leaning back, he resisted the impulse to lick his lips as he watched Sarah seize the end of his tie that had fallen on top of the counter. She started playing with the grey material. His perpetual clumsiness notwithstanding, which Chuck felt was only legitimate when being around a woman as remarkable as Sarah Walker, sometimes he thought that they actually looked natural together.

"It's about yesterday's flash," Sarah told him, her voice low. On his way to a customer's the day before, the Top Secret governmental computer database inside Chuck's brain had caught sight of an arms dealer. Chuck had passed the information on to his handlers, then had kept on with his day as ordered, his job done. Or so Chuck had thought. "Robert Innhood is going to be at the Arrowed Hearts gala tonight."

"The Arrowed Hearts gala?"

"It's a Valentine's Day gala organized to raise awareness of heart disease. We think Innhood might go there to meet with a client."

"But, another gala?" Chuck asked. "This is ridiculous. Is that all bad guys do? Going to galas, or art auctions, or…cocktail soirées?"

The real ridiculous part was that Chuck's only chance to spend the day of St. Valentine with his girlfriend was to spend the evening on an espionage mission for the U.S. government. Granted, Sarah wasn't actually his girlfriend, but it irked all the same.

"We need you to go, in case you recogniz—"

"Yeah, yeah," Chuck cut Sarah off. "You need the Intersect to flash. I get it." Sarah frowned slightly. It was her adorable frown, not the annoyed one. Since he wasn't sure why she did it, Chuck carried on. "Who goes to a gala for Valentine's Day, anyway? Talk about intimate setting."

"I guess criminals don't care about a commercial holiday about dating," Sarah said. "Color me shocked."

Chuck tilted his head to the side, conceding the point. "At least Ellie will be thrilled," he said.

Sarah grimaced. "Do you have to tell her?"

Chuck felt his eyebrows go up. Sarah didn't _ask_ Chuck what he had to tell his sister, she _told_ him what he had to say. He couldn't help but smile; Chuck's family and friends overwhelmed her, he knew, even if Sarah didn't let it show very often. And with the recent engagement of his sister, it wasn't going to get any easier. Captain Awesome and Ellie weren't in a hurry with the wedding and would take their time to plan the big day, but that only meant more hours discussing family, acquaintances, dresses, flowers, decoration, etc., and ultimately, it meant more trouble for Sarah—and for Chuck. Not that he could ever hope to have a better date for the wedding— _if_ it'd been remotely real.

It wasn't.

"We're going as guests, right?" Chuck tried not to think about the dress Sarah had worn at the last shindig they'd been to together. She'd looked stunning, even more than usual, if that was possible. Then he remembered the Lon Kirk debacle: Sarah's flirting with the billionaire philanthropist/counterfeited money launderer—for work—before she and Chuck could talk about the kiss they had shared a few days previously; their fight on the subject and the way Sarah had called what had happened between them "a mistake"; and the "let's be friends" agreement they had come to afterwards. Things were fine at present, water under the bridge, and after the risks Sarah had taken for Chuck so he wouldn't get bunkerized following a security breach a few weeks ago, he knew for certain the kiss had meant _something_. Whatever that was. Nevertheless, Valentine's Day wasn't the day to reminisce on the events. Chuck pushed the thoughts away. "I mean, you and me?"

"Mhm," Sarah hummed, in that non-committal way she had. It sort of infuriated him. It was adorable, sure, but he could never tell what she was really thinking. That was undoubtedly the entire point.

"Then, knowing about your boyfriend," Chuck said, "your friends insisted on you canceling your previous engagement with them"—the one she supposedly had had for months, saving she and Chuck from celebrating the couple's holiday together—"in light of the invitation for the gala you received from some acquaintances of yours." He frowned to himself. That was a perfect cover story for Ellie and his best friend, Morgan. Sometimes, he was getting way too good at this lying game to his liking. Chuck turned his eyes back to Sarah, who was looking at him strangely.

"Yes," she said, her face recovering a neutral expression. "That's…good."

"Bartowski!" Big Mike called out. "Does this look like a dating office to you, son?"

"No, sir," Chuck replied, shaking his head at his boss in what he hoped was an apologetic gesture. Not that he was sorry. There weren't any customers around, _and_ it was Sarah he was talking to. Big Mike would berate him more if he didn't chat from time to time with his unbelievably gorgeous girlfriend, who just so happened to work next door.

Sarah looked down at her watch. "I'm gonna wait in the home theater room," she said.

"You closed the Wienerlicious?"

"Nah, Scooter's still there. And I'm _not_ going back."

Chuck let out a light chuckle. "Bad day?" He moved around the desk to walk with her. It wasn't any more productive to wander around the store than chatting at the Nerd Herd desk, but Big Mike had already gone back to his office anyway.

Sarah shrugged. "The usual."

He hadn't seen her at lunch because Chuck had managed to free his morning in order to get some sleep. He was so tired sometimes. Nerd Herd by day and secret agent by night was not the most restful of jobs.

"I'm sorry." He wasn't just sorry about her day, he was sorry she had to work at the Wienerlicious at all. What a waste of her time and skills. Also, he was sorry that he wasn't sorrier. He couldn't say he wanted her out of there—out of his life.

"It's not your fault that I'm terrible at frying stuff," Sarah said.

"You know," Chuck said and opened the door of the home theater room, "if you didn't call the food you have to fry, 'stuff,' maybe it'd help."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

Chuck lifted his palms in front of him defensively, but he was smiling. Even better, Sarah was smiling back. "I'm just saying…"

"Uh-huh."

A disgusted grunt interrupted them.

"Hey, Casey," Sarah said, unfazed. Her partner gave her a nod.

"How'd you get in here?" Chuck asked. Casey had swapped his green shirt for a nondescript black polo shirt. "You just left."

The NSA agent gave his asset an apathetic look. "I'm a spy, moron." He shoved a file at Chuck's chest.

"Ow," Chuck said. Casey loved to give him paper cuts. It was a lot more painful and annoying than it sounded, too. "What's this?"

"Info on the gala."

The flash slapped Chuck in the face.

"What did you see?" Sarah asked, before he could grumble about the surprising appearance of Top Secret information in his mind. She had an uncanny ability to know when he'd flashed, even when she didn't see him flashing. Kick-ass-secret-agent power, he figured. Or she was simply being Sarah Walker.

Chuck blinked. "That guy's Joel Le Golas," he said, pointing at one picture. On it, an African-American man in his late thirties with an imposing physique, evoking images of linebacker, had ignited the flash. "He's some kind of businessman, never effectively proved to be involved in criminal activities, but he's been suspected in several crimes. Lately, it's been rumored that he's been looking for—" Chuck raised both his hands and curled his fingers into quotation marks "—'the Valentine.'"

His handlers shot Chuck two blank looks. They waited, presumably for more, eyes darting to one another in question.

"What's 'the Valentine'?" Sarah asked.

Chuck shrugged. "No idea."

"Well, let's find out," Casey said, moving around the coffee table. "Grab your tux." He threw him a black garment bag that Chuck had no chance whatsoever to catch. For one thing, he still had the Arrowed Hearts gala file in hand, and for another, it was him and his reflexes. Had Chuck been ready for it, he might not even have caught the suit. The bag flapped in the air slightly—not much, because Casey hadn't held back his strength—until it unceremoniously landed against Chuck, flattening and sending papers flying.

A shriek left Chuck's throat before he could contain it.

Casey smirked at the mess.

Though her eyes twinkled with what Chuck interpreted as amusement, Sarah shook her head. "Go change when you're done," she told him. "I'll wait for you here while Casey picks up the van."

The NSA agent grunted unhappily.

This time, the smirk came from Chuck.

 

* * *

 

Chuck's earbud crackled to life. "No luck with the geeks at Langley," he heard Casey say.

"Guess we'll have to find out ourselves what the Valentine is," Sarah replied next to him. Both she and Chuck wore microphones—Sarah in the pendant around her neck, Chuck in his bowtie—and they didn't need to activate the communication system to be heard by Casey. Although, they could turn their respective mic off with a switch of their watches if need be. There probably wouldn't be a need for that, sadly. Chuck glanced at Sarah. "How are you doing?" she asked him.

"Fine," Chuck said. Sarah gave him a lopsided smile. "At least, there's free booze," he added, sipping on his martini. He inwardly winced. He really should give up on martinis. So what if Charles Carmichael didn't like James Bond's drink? James Bond didn't have the monopoly on spy drinks. Sarah didn't drink martinis either—he wondered if it was because of the olives—and she'd kick James Bond's butt anytime. Chuck's spy alter-ego should choose his very own spy drink, he decided. "It's more than my evening would have had at home."

Plus, he was technically spending Valentine's Day evening in a tuxedo with Sarah and her immaculate, dark blue cocktail dress. The date wasn't real, but the dress most definitely was, and that was by far better than his original plans.

"Uh," Sarah said.

"Right." Chuck placed his glass on a waiter's tray nearby. "We can have free booze _afterwards_."

The comm clinked. "Bartowski, I'm not staying to babysit you, so you can get drunk on someone else's money."

"I'll stay," Sarah said. It earned her one of Casey's grunts.

Chuck glanced back at her. She just smiled at him, floatingly. For the life of him, this woman was a mystery. What did she mean by this!? As per usual, he was going to ask just that, because she sure wasn't going to extrapolate on her own initiative.

Sarah beat him to it. "He's here," she said. "Let's move to the bar."

Chuck didn't spot Robert Innhood immediately, but by now he knew better than frantically searching for someone in public. Unless he was freaking out, of course, but he wasn't, he was following Sarah's lead.

Once the arms dealer was well positioned in their field of view, Chuck looked around the ballroom with a little more scrutiny than upon entering. Trying to look natural in his tuxedo was demanding enough in itself, and that was without counting the distraction from Sarah's dress—and Sarah was always a factor, whatever she was wearing. In fact, her gown, though sumptuous and magnifying her eyes, was relatively simple. The cleavage wasn't extravagant; the bodice was fit but not too suggestive; the knee-length skirt flared slightly outward from the waist down and didn't show off too much of Sarah's mile-long legs. Admittedly, it did lead Chuck to wonder how much it would swirl if they were to dance, but it was _Sarah_. Chuck would wonder the same thing if she was wearing a pant suit. She was _that_ distracting.

As expected, the theme color for the ballroom's decoration was red—in all its hues. Little Cupid statuettes were adorning the giant staircase that led to an overlooking mezzanine area and the rest of the hotel hosting the event—it was one of those that started at the same point on the upstairs level and separated in two curves of stairs right and left. There were roses everywhere. On the tables lighted by chandeliers, white marshmallows and small pink candies were accompanying chocolate pieces. Multiple cocktails had been concocted for the occasion, with lots and lots of cherries. Heart-shaped balloons were hanging from the ceiling, heart-shaped napkins were given out with drinks and food, even heart-shaped confetti were complementing the loving atmosphere, lulled by soft classical music.

It could have been romantic, except that the guests weren't acting any differently than they did at any fancy gathering Chuck had been to since he was involved with the government. They were mingling—not necessarily with their dates either—conversing, boasting about their last weekend in Tahoe, the last painting they bought, or their last multi-million-dollar business deal.

"This is a strange way to spend Valentine's Day," Chuck concluded.

"What is?" Sarah asked. "Being on a mission?"

"No," Chuck said, "that's the usual. No, I'm talking about this party."

"Ah," Sarah said. Her eyes seemed to sweep the room then, as if watching it in a new light. "I guess it is."

"You don't think so?" Chuck asked. "Have you ever been to a Valentine's Day party like this before?" Sarah's eyes flicked away. It was brief, but he caught it. "Oh," Chuck heard himself say as he felt his stomach churn, regardless of the unromantic impression he had of the party.

She had been. Likely with Bryce.

"I have," Sarah admitted. "Though, yeah, never as a personal thing. I was working."

"With Bryce," Chuck said. It was totally her former boyfriend's scene, after all.

"No," Sarah said. "Not with Bryce, actually. But you probably have a point, because aside from the shooting part, it was boring as hell."

Relief, that he didn't have any right to feel, swirled through Chuck's belly and he let out a nervous laugh. "Guess Cupid missed his shot."

"Guess so," Sarah said. "But come on, there isn't one Valentine's Day that you'd rather have spent here than what you actually ended up doing?"

Chuck conceded her the point on that one.

"Free booze, remember," Sarah added.

"I guess today's supposed to be about the company, anyway," Chuck said. "Otherwise, what's the point? Unless there's some shooting."

"Damn right," Casey chimed in. "You two schoolgirls done prattling? Tonight's company's on the move."

Chuck wasn't sure where Casey was, but the agent was right. Innhood had excused himself from the group of guests he'd been discussing with since he'd arrived. He was now circulating the room like everyone else, with a bodyguard pretty much at his arm. They were both white men well in their forties, but where Robert Innhood was of average height and a bit stocky, his escort was as tall as Chuck and athletically slender. The man could have passed for Innhood's date in Chuck's opinion, but Casey and Sarah had noted that he'd been scanning their surroundings in a thorough, regular manner, indicative of professional training.

For the second time that day, Chuck's brain became a highway for Top Secret information as a petite, lovely woman joined the two men. "Um," he said, blinking.

"You flashed?"

"Yeah. The woman's Kate Dennis. She's some kind of chemist. Lost her job at a pharmaceutical firm after an internal scandal two years ago."

Sarah wrapped a hand around Chuck's arm and moved them to a moderate proximity. "It might be just a coincidence," she said.

Over the comm, Casey informed them that Dennis wasn't registered among the hotel's clientele.

"Guest list for the party?" Sarah asked.

"Checking," Casey replied.

Chuck tried to observe the three partygoers with discretion. "Maybe, she's his Valentine," he said, but Sarah flung him a skeptical look. "Innhood met her at a bad guy convention, but before he could know her name or where to find her, she was gone. And today, after a long, laborious search, they finally reunite on Valentine's Day."

Casey growled.

Chuck smiled to himself and decided to keep on aggravating the big guy. It was only fair, Casey was always taunting Chuck about one thing or another. "Love isn't dead for everybody," he said, as he sensed Sarah's fingers squeeze his forearm. He squinted at Dennis in the distance. "What's she doing?"

"She's sliding him a card key," Sarah said.

"Not on the guest list either," Casey confirmed.

"She must be using an alias." Sarah pulled on Chuck's elbow so he would follow. "Or someone else rented the room for her. She's going up."

"I don't know how I feel about spying on them," Chuck said. Innhood had let her go alone, but Chuck figured Sarah assumed the arms dealer would meet Dennis in her hotel room using the card key. "What if they really are, you know…"

"What?" Sarah's attention didn't leave Dennis, though she somehow managed to stir she and Chuck unobtrusively through the crowd. "Lovers?"

"Yeah."

"Lovers or not, we need to know."

"Walker, you need to stall her." Casey's voice sounded loud in Chuck's ear, in comparison to his and Sarah's whispering. "I got the room number from the video surveillance."

Chuck felt a familiar stress-induced heat fill him. "Stall her for what?" he asked.

"So Casey can bug her room," Sarah told him. From her facial expression and the way her eyes seemed to be discerning a million details around them, she was presumably putting a stalling plan together, even as she and Chuck started up the stairs. "You're gonna have to do it."

Or maybe not. " _What?_ "

"Go ride the elevator with her," Sarah said. "And start a conversation."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Chuck said, trying not to trip.

"Talking is all you do all day, Bartowski," Casey said. "For once, make it useful."

"Talk to her about what?"

They didn't answer him. Instead, Sarah pushed something plasticky into Chuck's hand and she shoved him as soon as they reached the floor. "Go!" she said. "Don't freak out, you're gonna be fine." And she disappeared.

_Don't freak out._

Right.

His CIA handler had just _ditched_ him, and to add insult to injury, she'd ditched him in order for _him_ —babbling nerd Chuck Bartowski—to initiate a conversation with a beautiful woman. Had Sarah learned nothing about her asset during the past five months? And what happened to her favorite instruction "Stay in the car"?

"Ask Dennis for dating advice," Chuck heard in his ear. Casey wasn't hiding is amusement. "That should give me plenty of time."

"Ha-ha." Chuck cleared his throat and took a deep breath, telling himself that Sarah must have had a good reason for what she'd done. He walked quietly to the elevator and realized that what Sarah had handed him was a card key, similar to the one Dennis had given Innhood. It wasn't a room key like he'd assumed, however, but a magnetic key allowing use of the elevator. _Fancy hotels_ , Chuck thought. He smiled and hoped it didn't look too constipated. What the hell was he going to talk to the other woman about?

Kate Dennis gave him a polite nod while they waited, before a high-pitched outburst over on the mezzanine caught their—and everyone else's—attention. Chuck's gaze followed the sound, seeing two guests engaged in a heated discussion. From the way the woman's eyes shined with unshed tears, whatever they were talking about wasn't going well. When the man, who Chuck assumed was her date, tried to pull the woman close, he was rebuffed and his peace offer ignored. He continued trying to explain himself, but whatever he was saying didn't work. The teary-eyed woman's slap rang throughout the mezzanine, making Chuck winced.

"Ouch," he said in sympathy.

Dennis traded a look with Chuck, returning his wince. She chuckled. "I guess Valentine's Day can't always be a win."

The elevator doors slid apart.

"Go to the eighth floor," came Casey's voice. The amusement seemed gone, and as it happened, Casey was being sensible, using a lowered tone.

"Yeah," Chuck said, motioning for Dennis to step inside first, "tell me about it!" He asked her floor as he moved to push the buttons. She was going to the seventh. Once done, Chuck stepped back and looked down at his shoes. The sweat he felt appearing on his back urged an edgy stretch out of him. The couple's quarrel they'd witnessed had broken the ice, but what now?

And the dreadful elevator music chirping through the speakers wasn't helping.

"Rough night?" Dennis asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Chuck looked up, surprised. "Um." He forced out a laugh. "Does it show that much?"

She smiled back. Her smile was pretty, her light-brown-skinned features were attractive, and her dark eyes sparkled behind her glasses in the artificial light of the elevator car.

Her petite figure reminded him of Lou a little, but the resemblance was likely the result of a residual Valentine's Day "I'm single" heartache talking. As a matter of fact, with her cute glasses and her scientific background, Dennis reminded Chuck of another of his ex-girlfriends as well. Except, Jill didn't hang out with the kind of bad crowd Dennis did. And besides, he should stop right there. These sorts of thoughts were exactly the ones he didn't want to dwell on tonight. He had spent way too many Valentine's Day thinking of Jill as it was.

More notably, Dennis seemed like a nice person; he wouldn't have pegged her for someone that associated herself with arms dealers.

"Kind of," she said.

Chuck scratched his forehead in what he intended to be a nervous gesture, stalling the inevitable lie he'd have to come up with, and raking his mind for what he could possibly say. "I'm not having the best night," he said. _Keep it as simple as possible_ , Sarah always said. "A friend just disappeared on me." That was the truth. Sarah had completely abandoned him.

"Disappeared?"

"She's mad at me," Chuck explained, trying to look both charming and miserable. Odds were that he looked like a nervous jerk. "I'm hoping she's—" he pointed his index finger at the ceiling "—upstairs."

The elevator car jolted to a stop suddenly. Dennis swayed against Chuck as the light flickered a couple of times. He reached out to help her keep her balance. Her black hair smelled of strawberries and something else that Chuck couldn't make out.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking embarrassed as she smoothed her maroon dress.

"It's okay." Chuck let go of her and moved to punch the various buttons. "I'm sure it's nothing."

"Chuck, it's me, don't worry. I'll keep the elevator on halt for a little bit."

Sarah's voice had startled him, but Dennis didn't seem to notice. "Oh, elevators don't stress me out," she said. Chuck didn't reply; faking elevator phobia might be just what he needed to stall her. He pressed buttons again. "How about you?"

"Um?"

"Do elevators stress you out?" Dennis asked.

"I'm not claustrophobic," Chuck said in earnest.

"Okay."

"Sorry." He tried to look abashed as he swallowed—not an arduous task. "I don't have an issue with elevators…when they work."

"Only when they stop," Dennis said with understanding.

Chuck tugged at his collar. "Yeah."

"I'm sure it won't last long." She really was nice, Chuck thought. "So you were saying, about your friend?"

"Oh, I don't want to bother you with my problems." Chuck waved a dismissive hand.

"No, no, maybe I can help? Tell me."

Chuck paused, acting his part and looking at her as though gauging her sincerity. He would have to continue talking either way, but she did appear interested. "Okay." He forced another laugh out; it seemed to keep her relaxed and unquestioning. "So, I'm here with a few friends, single like me. We didn't have anything better to do, I guess. Anyway, April and I—I'm Charles, by the way." Chuck offered her his hand.

She took it, gently. "Kate."

"Enchanté," Chuck said. "So April and I have been friends for a long time and nothing happened between us. I mean, we were with other people when we met, then she traveled a lot, I met someone else..."

Kate nodded encouragingly.

"And lately, it hasn't been a very good period for me," Chuck went on. For his companion's benefit, he kept his speech fast as an overt sign of stress. "I lost my job, and I'm kind of trying to figure out what to do with my life, you know. But I realized, perhaps it's the atmosphere or the alcohol, I don't know—"

"You don't seem drunk to me," Kate said, amused. Chuck smiled. "So you realized?"

"Yeah," Chuck said. "I realized that…it's been her all along, you know? So I tried to kiss her."

"And now she's gone?"

"She said I was a mess. That she'd hoped I would have done this when I had my shit together. Her words. I got defensive and told her that she's always been a mess, too." Chuck grimaced for comedic effect. "She didn't like it."

He hoped that Kate didn't see any parallel with the recently released Ryan Reynold's movie—"Maybe something," Chuck couldn't remember the title. Awesome and Ellie had dragged Chuck and Sarah the week before to see it. It had been incredibly awkward at first—just like all double dating with his sister and her awesome fiancé were—but they'd eventually relaxed as it turned out the movie wasn't terrible. The kid actor had been good. Chuck was almost sure Sarah had been rooting for the redhead from the start, and at the end, Chuck's fake girlfriend kind of had that sheepish smile she had sometimes. Rarely. Sarah Walker couldn't know she sometimes had a sheepish smile and he'd deny it if she ever asked. Nevertheless, the movie was what came to mind for the elevator lift.

Considering what he was presently doing on Valentine's Day, it was no wonder that his own dating life hadn't inspired any story out of him.

Kate laughed. "I think you're fine."

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, for one thing," she said, "you're looking for her right now. And you're going to apologize…?"

"Yes! Right," Chuck said.

"And if you tell her what you just told me, I'm sure she'll get over it. If she doesn't, that's her loss. Maybe it wasn't her all along, after all."

The elevator car jolted again, this time back into motion. Chuck let out a loud exhalation. It dinged, before the doors finally re-opened.

"That's me," Kate said, just as through his earpiece, Chuck heard Casey telling him that he wasn't yet out of Dennis's suite.

"Um," Chuck said, apprehensively. "You have a good night."

"Good night, Charles."

As the doors started to close again and Kate was rummaging through her purse—how much rummaging could she really do? The purse was ridiculously tiny—Chuck glimpsed Casey's head peering in the hallway from what he assumed to be Kate's hotel room. With an arm, Chuck blocked the doors, causing Kate to spin back toward him in surprise.

"Is something the matter?" she asked.

"Ah." Chuck forced out a laugh once more, this time he went for deprecating. He stepped out in front of her. "No. I think…" Casey left the room. He wore a steward uniform and walked in the opposite direction. Kate wouldn't question his presence there. "I think I'm going to take the stairs," Chuck finished.

Kate chuckled and placed a hand on his forearm amicably. "Have a good night. I'm sure everything will work out with your friend." She smiled one last time before heading to her room.

Chuck thanked her and, walking to the stairs, he sighed heavily.

"You did great, Chuck," Sarah said over the comm.

"Who would have thought she was into geeks," Casey said.

"What?" Chuck asked.

"Then again, she wouldn't be the first," Casey added.

"What's he talking about?"

"Nothing," Sarah said. "Go to Room 815. We'll meet you there."

 

* * *

 

After almost half an hour, Robert Innhood and his bodyguard finally went up to meet with Kate Dennis in her hotel room. It became clear then that they weren't having a torrid Valentine's Day affair. Casey, Chuck, and Sarah watched the business conversation on a series of monitors inside the hotel room 815, which Chuck hadn't been aware the team had at their disposal.

Dennis's room was, as Casey had called it, more of a suite. Double doors led into a large room with a living room area on the right, composed of sofas, armchairs, a coffee table, and an appropriately expensive hotel bar. There was a dining table on the left, well lighted by the sliding doors opening on a balcony. One door on that side likely led to the bedroom and facilities, but Casey hadn't planted bugs beyond the main room.

"What do you think it is?" Chuck asked. "A weapon?"

Innhood's bodyguard hadn't come up empty-handed. Now, he was opening the suitcase that he had placed on the table.

"If you just wait thirty seconds, you'll see," Casey said. "And stop breathing down my neck!"

Chuck thought he'd been at a reasonable distance, but it was somewhat of a tight fit for the three of them to get a clear view of all the monitors. It kind of felt like a split-screen multiplayer game, except that he had to fight Casey for command of the keyboard—less fun. On his other side was Sarah and Chuck didn't want to lean too much in her direction. It was the dress, he told himself. And he was still a little on edge from his stalling of Kate. Also, Sarah was all party-pretty and she smelled really good. There wasn't much he could do against that, honestly.

On the hallway video surveillance, they could see that one man was guarding Kate's room. There hadn't been other signs of Innhood's men, but Casey didn't bet on them not being around. Though Chuck seldom came directly in contact with other government agents in order to protect his and the Intersect's identity, he had also realized earlier that, along with this hotel room, there were a couple of agents somewhere in the hotel here to support Team Intersect.

Clearly knowing what he was doing, Innhood's bodyguard methodically put together the pieces of whatever was in the suitcase.

"Maybe that's the Valentine?" Chuck ventured.

"Maybe," Sarah said. "Or the Valentine was just tonight's meeting, or something they have planned for later. Could be anything. Did you check her luggage?" Sarah asked Casey, as they watched Kate searching through a briefcase.

"Uh-uh." Casey toyed with a few buttons. "It was locked."

From inside the suite, Innhood's voice cleared through Chuck's headset. "How about a little test?" the arms dealer told Kate.

"You're not hoping to test it on me," she replied, "are you?"

Test what exactly?

"Is that a crossbow?" Chuck tipped his head forward, trying to get a better look at what the bodyguard had assembled. "Great, are they Icelandic too?"

Sarah shushed him.

But seriously, what was with bad guys and fraking _crossbows_? And why would Innhood test one on Kate? That would make for a kinky Valentine's Day celebration.

"Don't flatter yourself, Ms. Dennis," Innhood said. "You're not my type."

Kate visibly arched an eyebrow at that and the bodyguard smirked. She paid him no mind and instead handed him two flasks: one with a translucent liquid inside, the other with a reddish one.

"So that's it?" Innhood said, taking a look for himself.

"That's it," Kate confirmed.

The arms dealer passed the flasks back to his bodyguard, who carefully placed them both inside the crossbow's stock, in what looked like a side emplacement specifically reserved for them. Then he loaded several bolts into the weapon, each producing a distinctive _click_.

"The compounds automatically load into the bolts once they're inside?" Kate asked Innhood. He nodded positively. "Don't load too many of them, then."

"Why?" the bodyguard asked.

"Once blended, it won't keep for more than 72 hours," Kate said. "Hence, the separate flasks."

"What do you think?" Casey asked, back in Room 815.

Chuck was going to answer that he didn't know what to think, but Sarah spoke first. Probably best, since Casey was likely inquiring after her opinion rather than his. "Might be bio-terrorism," she said.

Casey grunted in agreement, before stepping aside, informing whomever he needed to inform. Chuck had no idea.

"They're leaving," Sarah told Casey.

Chuck watched as Kate, Innhood, and Kevin Costner—crossbow in hand—walked back outside the suite. With a few words to the guard at the doors, they strolled down towards the elevator. The team didn't have audio in the hallway, but the three partygoers seemed to be casually talking.

"You two follow them," Casey said, "in case they're going back to the gala."

"Still no sign of Le Golas?" Sarah asked.

"No," Casey said. "Agent Sterling'll keep an eye out for him."

Sarah turned to Chuck. She didn't seem stressed at all—undeniably focused, but calm. Reaching out to him, she readjusted his bowtie, before giving him a reassuring smile. No doubt Chuck didn't look as composed as she did, though he didn't feel especially anxious anymore. The stress and adrenaline were fading. His body temperature had decreased. He did feel slightly tired, but nothing of consequence. And he was getting used to "partying" with Sarah, if only she wouldn't make it so difficult to be around her sometimes by being so perfect.

"Come on," Sarah said, prompting them to exit the room. After a few steps outside, she looked back at the door, before asking, "Am I April, then?" She seemed faintly amused. "If we stumble back into Dennis?"

Casey and Sarah had been busy monitoring their target and speaking to Agent Sterling when Chuck had met back with them. Plus, they'd wanted him to see if he flashed over a series of pictures and some camera surveillance. So apart from shortly asking him how he was, they hadn't mentioned the elevator ride.

"I tried to come up with something simple," Chuck said.

"That was clever." Chuck felt an entirely different sensation than before in his stomach. Like a dizzy spell, but in a good way. Sarah's praises often did that to him. "If it hadn't been for the character's name, I might not even have noticed what you were talking about."

"Oh, so you caught it?"

"Sure."

Chuck thought back to that sheepish smile Sarah had sported, if only for a brief moment, at the end of the movie. He chuckled.

"What?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"What is it?"

"You _liked_ that movie," Chuck said. "I knew it!"

"So?"

"So, nothing," Chuck told her. "That's cool. At least, it wasn't a night completely wasted. I know couple-date nights with Awesome and Ellie aren't always pleasant."

Sarah's guarded expression switched to something more pondering. "I thought it went fine."

"Fine, yeah," Chuck said. "Ellie was delighted. But I'm talking about actually enjoying yourself. I mean, supposedly that's why people go out to see movies with other people."

"What are you talking about?" Sarah said. "It's not like it's torture to go to the movies with your sister and her fiancé. Trust me, I know."

"Ha-ha." Although Chuck appreciated her attempt at keeping the mood light, his laugh sounded ill-at-ease; he didn't like to think about Sarah being tortured. To end the discussion, he gave her a shrug, knowing she wouldn't admit to being bored with him. And anyhow, the time she spent with him was work. But even so, Sarah spent her days in that dull German restaurant of hers, and Chuck had always hoped he brought her more fun than _that_ during their together time. Even if it would never be as exciting as "some shooting" or whatever spies were usually up to.

"Kung-fu movies with Morgan, on the other hand…" Sarah trailed off, swiping a card to call the elevator. She looked up then, a teasing smile tugging at her lips, giving him her full attention.

Chuck flattened a palm to his chest, over his heart, and faked affront. "But the sizzling shrimp!"

"The shrimp," Sarah said with a solemn nod, lips slowly curving upwards. She kept her gaze on his.

He waited.

The elevator dinged.

Chuck's eyes shut and he cursed to himself. The ding had interrupted…something. Sarah had looked like she was going to say nice things, important things, things he wanted to know! Darn it, they kept having the worst timing.

The thought didn't linger. Sliding open, the doors revealed two people being very friendly with each other. Love was in the air, tonight. Or something was, in any case, because Phil Collins was singing about it through the speakers.

Chuck recognized the woman inside as he took in the scene, before embarrassment settled, leading him to look away and trust his peripheral vision for a moment. The woman was the same one that had argued with and slapped her date on the mezzanine earlier. Glancing back furtively, Chuck assessed that the man in the elevator had been the recipient of said slap. They'd obviously made up.

The couple didn't notice the elevator stopping or the attention right away. When they did, they froze for merely a second. The woman let go of the man's shirt and tried to straighten the material, but half of the buttons were either undone or missing. Judging by the way the two of them had been glued to each other, plastered against the wall, Chuck wouldn't have put button-snatching past them. The man's hand glided back from its significantly-down-the-woman's-dress spot, causing Chuck to look away once more. Traces of lipstick dotted all over the man's face. His voice was hoarse when he apologized, circling an arm around his date's waist. They both offered embarrassed looks, though they didn't seem sorry at all in reality—Chuck didn't blame them. The hesitation gone as fast as the surprise, the couple hurried past Chuck and Sarah hand in hand.

Sarah's eyebrows were up when Chuck glanced back at her, and after hearing the two party guests giggling as they tried to open their hotel suite, Sarah let out her contained laugh along with Chuck's.

Their laughter died in an awkward silence, however, once finding themselves alone in the elevator car, descending back to the ballroom. Chuck knew; he and Sarah unfortunately weren't feeling it coming in the air, tonight.

 

* * *

 

What Chuck _did_ feel coming in the air that night was the atmosphere growing heavier. He and Sarah hadn't encountered other incidents similar to the one with the elevator couple, but the party ambiance had definitely shifted. St. Valentine's theme was in action and guests seemed to be flirting and paying attention to their date now—or someone else's date at times. Either way, the mood was amorous.

Meanwhile, Team Intersect had lost sight of the weapon. According to Agent Sterling, the crossbow had been put away or delivered before Kate Dennis, Robert Innhood, and his bodyguard had made it back to the ballroom. The review of the video surveillance hadn't indicated where it'd disappeared to yet.

Splitting—Kate by herself, Innhood and his bodyguard together—the three of them had acted as though they barely knew each other. Kate had now gone back to her room, after mingling some more with all sorts of people, none of them especially alerting. Innhood and his bodyguard mostly stayed together without company, seemingly enjoying themselves, chatting.

After Sarah had decided for the umpteenth time that she and Chuck should change position, Chuck scanned the ballroom one more time, before he could turn to the buffet behind them. First, he selected sparkling water as his drink. How highly-extravagant of him. Second, he grabbed several hyper-sugary and strange-looking appetizers as his food—whose composition was a complete mystery to him, but darn if they weren't good. As he studied the table, Chuck accorded himself a brief moment of musing.

There was one flimsy possibility that, with a little luck, Casey and Agent Sterling would find the weapon; Dennis and Innhood would be apprehended; the team would figure out exactly what the Valentine was; and Sarah would stay with Chuck afterwards to enjoy the free booze, like she'd said she would. Not really sure of what he was doing, he smoothed a red rose from the table in the inside of his jacket.

The air suddenly filled with Sarah's perfume. She'd stepped closer and her arm went around him to place her cocktail back on a tray. Chuck twisted his neck to see why, discovering a newly-arrived group of guests crowding the buffet. Sarah laid a hand on Chuck's upper arm, prodding him to sidle away with her. In a glimpse, they found themselves cornered at the table. Chuck shuffled around to face Sarah, readjusted, and failed to give her more space.

Chuck felt flushed, yet a chill swerved down his spine.

Sarah's hair tickled his chin as he glanced down, but she didn't look alarmed; which meant that she hadn't been taken by surprise and that the large group hadn't been part of a bad-guy-diversion maneuver. Chuck and Sarah hadn't been made.

Chuck's worry shifted. Every second that passed was another second for Chuck to be extra-aware of Sarah's presence. The air felt cramped now: a mix of Chuck's own scent, Sarah's perfume, Sarah's shampoo, even Sarah's sweet breath. She was omnipresent. Because even though they were standing, she and Chuck were currently sharing as much space as they had not too long ago, when they'd been locked up inside the trunk of a car.

Rethinking about that shared jaunt wasn't a good idea. It often led to rethinking about the "mistake" that had followed: the kiss. Chuck shouldn't be thinking about kissing Sarah right now. On the other hand, Sarah was more or less pressed against him right now.

Why did this evening mission have to turn so torturous? Oh, right: it was Valentine's Day. Of course, fake spending the holiday with Sarah Walker would be torturous. She didn't even seem an iota bothered by their current predicament.

Instead, Sarah's palm slid down Chuck's sleeve, before her fingers intertwined with his. "Here," she said, not looking at him. She started to step away. Too overwhelmed to focus beyond following up on her motions, Chuck didn't know how she did it, but Sarah moved them through the crowd all the same. When he finally inhaled a clear intake of breath, Chuck's hand was clammy against Sarah's. He hoped she didn't mind too much as he sighed.

Between the party's atmosphere, the mission's uncertainties, and Sarah's…well, just Sarah, Chuck all but sagged with relief when Agent Sterling signaled over the comm the arrival of businessman Joel Le Golas. Anything to take his mind off this Valentine's Day party Chuck wasn't _really_ attending with his girlfriend.

"Waiting on instructions," Agent Sterling said. "Should we intercept him?"

Sarah fiddled with her watch, to change the transmission channel. Though Sterling and the other agents assigned to the team could contact Casey and Sarah without problem, as a security measure to protect the Intersect, they were prevented from any communication with Chuck. "We might lose the weapon if we act now," Sarah said. "Is Dennis still in her room?"

"Affirmative," Casey said. They exchanged a few words and it was decided that Chuck and Sarah would switch their surveillance to keep an eye on Le Golas, while Agent Sterling took care of Innhood.

The arms dealer took notice of Le Golas's appearance almost immediately, though they didn't make any gesture toward each other.

The Intersect took notice as well. Le Golas's companion, a fetching Hispanic woman in her thirties, wasn't his date; or if she was, that wasn't all that she was. The flash informed Chuck that the former Venezuelan commando-trained mercenary, going by the alias of Quinn Oliveira, had many, many lines on her criminal resume. Chuck made a mental note not to, by any means, get close to her. There would be no practicing of his tango with her for sure.

Another man approached the couple and introduced himself. Surprisingly, the Intersect didn't trigger at the sight of the man's burned scar on his right temple. That kind of attribute was often a cause for flashes. But the meeting seemed harmless, like many pleasantries shared that night.

Until Le Golas was offered a small envelope right before they separated.

"Card key," Sarah whispered.

"How do you know?" Chuck asked.

She moved a shoulder. "Just a guess."

Chuck knew better than doubting Sarah's instincts on these matters. "That was one of Innhood's men, then?"

"If I'm right." And Sarah usually was.

Indeed, Le Golas and Oliveira strode up the curved stairwell, up the elevator, right to Kate's hotel suite; and unlike earlier, it wasn't long before Innhood and his bodyguard joined their new party.


	2. Chapter 2

Once back in Room 815, Chuck asked his handlers about the plan, now that the bad guys were congregating.

“You stay here with Walker,” Casey said, bestirring himself.

“What about you?”

Grabbing a handgun off a table, Casey wriggled the weapon in the air. “It’s play time.” He sounded almost gleeful.

“O-kay.” Chuck turned to Sarah, who watched Casey going out the door in seconds. She looked as if she yearned to follow her partner, the expression not unlike the one of a kid dropped off at school and wishing nothing more than to run back to his departing parent. “Why aren’t you going?” Chuck asked.

Sarah seemed to catch herself and her expression changed to something more smiley. “Someone needs to stay and keep _you_ safe,” she said. “It’s my job, you know.”

Chuck tried not to deflate at the reminder of the professional nature of their relationship. “So…” he said, wiggling out of his suit jacket. “You don’t trust me to stay safe, alone in a locked room, a floor away from the action?”

Sarah didn’t say anything. He could tell she tried to look apologetic about it.

Casey didn’t mind. “We don’t trust you to stay anywhere, period,” he said over the comm.

“That’s totally unfair!” Chuck said. “It’s not always _my_ fault.”

“Focus, would you, moron? I’m trying to work here.”

Instead of shooting back a retort, Chuck realized that the reason why Casey could hear his conversation with Sarah was that Chuck’s bowtie microphone was still on. He turned it off, and remembered as he did so, that he had stashed a bunch of marshmallows in his jacket pocket. He, the alleged moron, didn’t have to work; he could eat candies.

“No shooting for you, then?” Chuck asked Sarah as he fished out of his pocket the rumpled, heart-shaped, red napkin containing his swag.

Sarah shrugged. “Not today.”

“Well, that sucks.” Chuck slumped on the bed, before stuffing a marshmallow in one of his cheeks. “How’re we gonna save your Valentine’s Day now?”

Even before all the words had tumbled out of his mouth, Chuck gave himself an inward kick. He hadn’t thought—hadn’t meant for the question to be awkward. But just like that, an eerie silence was back between them.

Chuck resisted the urge to facepalm. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Fortuitously, Sarah didn’t let it fester. “Night’s still young,” she said after a handful of seconds, her gaze flicking to the monitors. Unlike how Chuck’s had been, her words didn’t hold any double-entendres. She put out her hand to him, palm up. “But in the meantime, marshmallows would help.”

Chuck smiled, grateful for her deflection. He straightened up to his feet and joined her with the remaining candies.

“You need to watch,” Sarah told him, her attention back on the surveillance. She put on a headset. “The Intersect might still come of use.”

“You think someone else’s coming that I might flash on?”

“You never know.”

Chuck looked around first. Three chairs had been too tight a fit, but now that it was only the two of them, they could actually sit down at the surveillance table. And he was a little tired of standing; he wasn’t the biggest fan of dress shoes. Chuck grabbed two chairs, offering one to Sarah.

“What’s Casey doing?” he asked, once installed.

The NSA agent was walking calmly down the hallway outside of Kate Dennis’s hotel suite; _in the direction of_ Kate Dennis’s hotel suite, to be exact.

Casey reached the guard at the doors and—

“It’s a tranq gun,” Sarah said. She must have sensed Chuck tense beside her. “Don’t worry.”

Casey grabbed by the armpits the lifeless man he had just shot. He dragged him out of view of the camera, inside what seemed to be a maintenance room.

“Casey’s gonna go in with Sterling and Redshirtington,” Sarah said. “He’s just cleaning up the way first.”

The way, that had been obstructed by the guard. Chuck pushed away the feeling of unease caused by seeing Casey shoot the man at close range— _tranquilize_ the man, he corrected. Something else sidetracked him. “Redshirt-ington?” he asked, hoping he’d misheard. That could _not_ be a good sign.

“Agent Redshirtington, yes,” Sarah said, absently. “Sterling’s partner.”

How had this guy even made it that far as an agent? Odds were against him for sure.

“I’m just gonna call him Agent Red, if that’s okay,” Chuck said.

Sarah didn’t seem to care and pressed a button to transmit to Casey. “Something’s happening inside.”

At her declaration, Chuck turned his attention back to Kate’s suite and the chatter coming from his headset.

Kate Dennis, Robert Innhood, and Joel Le Golas stood around the suite’s table, upon which rested the crossbow. Innhood’s bodyguard and Quinn Oliveira stayed back by their respective bosses’ sides.

“What _kind_ of demonstration?” Kate asked Le Golas. It sounded like she’d already asked the question.

“The loving kind, of course,” Le Golas replied, smiling a smile that didn’t inspire anything loving to Chuck.

From the corner of his eye, Chuck spied movement on another monitor. He gulped. “Uh, Sarah?” For good measure, he nudged her before pointing at the video surveillance of the area situated at the end of the hallway.

Two men had suddenly appeared, coming from the stairs. They wore dark suits, with dark ties, dark shirts, and dark no-nonsense expressions on their faces. But more eminently, they were also dragging two people along with them—a man and a woman, that much was clear—both tied up, with a dark bag covering their heads.

“What’s happening?” Chuck asked.

“I don’t know,” Sarah said, before activating the comm, leaving it engaged this time. “Casey?”

“I see them.”

Inside the suite, Oliveira walked to the doors.

“We’re standing-by,” Casey added.

“What’s going on?” Innhood asked, echoing Chuck’s thoughts. His bodyguard repositioned himself between his boss and the entrance. Kate instinctively stepped back behind him as well, next to Innhood.

In the hallway, Oliveira frown as she looked right and left. “Where’s your guard, Clinton?” she asked in a thick accent, letting in the men with the two captives. “Your man the kind to take a break?”

The bodyguard—Clinton, Chuck figured—looked annoyed. “What do you think?”

“Bart,” Innhood said, as though asking him to play nice.

In the middle of the suite, Oliveira’s men shoved the hostages into two armchairs. From the clothes they wore, it didn’t look like the two captives had been attending the party. They both had jeans on, the woman with a hoodie and a pair of sneakers, the man with a sweater and a pair of boots.

“For Heaven’s sake,” Innhood said, “you could use a little discretion!” He moved quickly to grab the doorknob, shaking off the stretched arm Clinton used to hold him back. Innhood swayed one door in its hinges to press Oliveira back inside.

Still frowning, she turned to her two men. “Go sweep the floor,” she ordered. Impassive, the men left without question, shutting the doors.

Innhood turned toward the hostages and asked who the hell they were. In response, Oliveira pulled the hostages’ heads free of the bags obscuring them. Chuck felt the flash coming too late; choking on a marshmallow, he coughed.

Le Golas went on, “Just think of them as your passport for that money I’ll give you if the demonstration proves to be successful.”

“That’s Roman O’Moran and Julia Capone,” Chuck explained to Sarah. “Son and daughter of two rivaled Chicago gang leaders.” He shook his head. “I think the war between the two gangs is interfering with Le Golas’s affairs.”

“The Valentine’s philter works—” Kate started.

“Great!” Le Golas cut off.

 _Philter?_ Chuck thought. That was new.

“Then let’s see it!” Le Golas gestured dramatically at the hostages. “Let them _fall in love_!”

_What?_

“That’s not how it works,” Kate said. “You can’t force them to fall in love with each other.”

“Is this Cupid’s weapon or not?” Le Golas asked.

So that was what the Valentine was: Cupid’s weapon?

“Mr. Le Golas—”

Le Golas held up a hand, his gaze steadfast. “Innhood, I came to you because I knew you were the man for this job. And I ordered a weapon from you. I asked for it to be a crossbow because it was fun, certainly, considering the nature of my purchase, but I’m not here to screw around. You know that.”

Chuck had to admire how the businessman could make his simple words so threatening.

“I know,” Innhood replied. “And I assure you, the philter Ms. Dennis synthesized functions perfectly. We tested it right here, in this hotel, not a couple of hours ago. I wouldn’t lean on the elevator’s walls if I were you, because if you’d seen the couple we tested getting inside, you’d have no doubt about what they were planning on doing.”

“Yeah,” Casey’s voice chimed in. Chuck could hear the smirk even through the comm. “Each other.”

“Thanks, Casey,” Sarah said. “We saw.”

Right, the elevator couple! They’d been shot with the Valentine. Oh, boy. Whatever the “philter” from the two flasks inside the crossbow was, it totally _did_ work.

“So?” Le Golas jerked his head at his hostages. “Make it happen.”

“They’re going to shoot them!” Chuck said.

Sarah stood up. “Casey.”

“We’re going in,” Casey agreed.

Next to him, Chuck saw Sarah heave up the skirt of her dress, exposing her gun holster around her toned thigh—and giving him a beguiling eyeful. She seized her Smith & Wesson.

“Bartowski, listen to me,” Casey said. His serious tone grounded Chuck back to the issue at hand. “You and Walker aren’t going anywhere near this weapon.”

“Casey—” Sarah said, checking and reholstering her gun.

“I don’t want to deal with another Pentothal fiasco. Or worse.”

A few months back, Team Intersect had been subjected to a deadly derivative of Pentothal used as truth serum. It had been absolutely unacceptable that Ellie had been involved and poisoned. All of them had barely escaped death. But Chuck wasn’t sure what Casey meant by calling that episode a “fiasco.” In the end, they all made it out unscathed—not counting Chuck’s dignity, but he doubted Casey worried about the revelations of embarrassing truths from the mouth of Chuck’s sister. And even if considered a fiasco, it was hardly fair to single him and Sarah out today about the whole thing, Chuck felt.

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Casey, _come on_.”

“Thank you,” Chuck told her.

“No,” Sarah replied. “It’s three against five, with two hostages in the room. So _I_ ’m going. But you stay—”

“In the room,” Chuck cut her off. “Yeah.”

“Bartowski, if you get shot with this stupid—”

“I said I’d stay!”

“You better.”

Chuck puffed at the warning. He’d said he’d stay, hadn’t he? “And besides,” he felt the need to point out, “you two could ‘fall in love’ just as much! With each other even!”

That would be bad for the team _and_ for the U.S. government as a whole; because Chuck wasn’t sure his brain, and by extension the precious Intersect, would survive witnessing such a thing.

Casey let out a disgusted grunt even as Sarah wrinkled her nose. “Really?” she asked him, letting the obvious “You had to go there?” unsaid as she pressed on Chuck’s watch to turn back on his bowtie mic.

“Yeah, thanks for the image. Some of us actually have boundaries when it comes to partnership,” Casey said. “Not that Walker does.”

“That’s real nice, Casey,” was the last thing Chuck heard from Sarah before she left. He followed her via the hotel’s video surveillance for a few seconds, glimpsed at Casey’s advance in the hallway, and decided to fix his attention on the events occurring inside the hotel suite.

Kate had retreated to look outside through the sliding doors of the balcony, arms folded across her chest. Chuck couldn’t read her face on the video from that angle, but her posture suggested how uneasy she was. She had placed herself behind Clinton once more. Innhood’s bodyguard, who’d been closest to the captives, had taken position between the two armchairs. Directly in front of him, Oliveira and Innhood were still by the suite’s doors. Le Golas had taken hold of the crossbow—the Valentine. He moved slightly away from the table, in order to face his hostages, and aimed in their direction.

He triggered the Valentine.

A bolt pricked Roman O’Moran’s chest through his sweater, causing the young man to yelp.

His shoulders shaking with laughter, Le Golas said, “Man, that’s fun!” as he studied the crossbow. He had the twinkling look of a customer satisfied with his purchase.

Suddenly, the double doors burst open.

O’Moran’s cry must have sounded the launch of Casey’s team assault. Le Golas startled; he inadvertently triggered the weapon again.

It was Clinton’s turn to yelp. “What the fuck?!” the bodyguard cried out.

In a split second, Casey, Agent Sterling, and Agent Red were inside, holding Le Golas, Innhood, and Oliveira at gun point.

“Don’t even try!” Sterling shouted at Clinton—the only one, with Kate, not having a gun pointed on him. “Won’t help your boss.”

Clinton hadn’t been trying to reach for his own gun, though. He tugged at the dart sticking out of his upper arm. Realizing that his bodyguard was hit, Innhood immediately stepped up to him. Undeterred by the agents’ loud warnings, the arms dealer didn’t seem to care about the danger. Chuck thought he heard him asking “Bart” if he was all right.

In a blur of a motion, using the distraction, Oliveira lunged at Sterling. She clutched at his hand.

A gunshot rang.

Agent Red moaned in pain and crumpled to the ground. Not missing a beat, Le Golas was charging Casey before the injured agent even made it to the carpet.

“Holy frak—!” Chuck heard himself say. He had somehow risen from his chair, he realized, as he watched Le Golas tackle his NSA handler. Casey’s fist clashed with the businessman’s cheekbone, before they rolled, wrestling.

“Chuck,” Sarah’s voice crackled through the comm, “talk to me.”

Chuck thought that he had seen the smear of a crossbow flying somewhere across the room, but he had no idea where Le Golas had thrown it. Should he track it down? His brain was racing in the confusion. As if he had drunk too much Red Bull. “Agent Red’s hurt!” he blurted out, remembering the priority.

Sarah swore. Chuck heard her speaking for a bit, saying to someone that they had a man down, before she resumed talking to him. “Whatever happens, don’t leave your room!” The connection cut. She must have turned off her necklace again.

Chuck’s eyes swept the hotel suite: Casey and Sterling were struggling with Le Golas and Oliveira respectively, exchanging blow for blow. It wasn’t pretty. A few steps away, the hostages were squirming against their bindings. It was hard to tell precisely from the distance, but next to them, Clinton’s demeanor had visibly changed with the Valentine’s philter. His eyes glazed over as he stared at his boss.

“Rob,” Clinton said, his voice softer among the hubbub and unrecognizable from the one he’d used previously.

“Bart,” Innhood replied, pulling his bodyguard aside from the fights, “the philter’s affecting you. Don’t let it.”

“But…”

Innhood took one of Clinton’s hands in what Chuck thought was a rather affectionate gesture. Wait a minute. Where these two an item? Chuck had known the bodyguard could have passed for Innhood’s date! Clinton was the Kevin Costner to Innhood’s Whitney Houston! Sort of. With less singing.

Since the couple seemed engrossed with each other, Chuck moved on to check on Kate. So far, she’d stayed quietly away by the window, but the shock must have worn off. She gave a wide berth to everyone else in the room, sidestepping so she could keep an eye on the other occupants. If she’d appeared uneasy before, her movements had now become precise.

As she passed the armchairs, Julia Capone, who had managed to free herself, untied Roman O’Moran. Clearly under his own reaction to the Valentine’s philter, the young man immediately went for a tight, grateful hug.

“Get off me!” Capone told him.

Chuck tensed and cast Kate on the back burner for a second. Where was Sarah? With the philter at play, the situation might go downhill—or rather, go down _er_ -hill, because Agent Red must be thinking that it already wasn’t going splendidly. Casey and Sterling were still busy and Agent Red was left to redecorate the carpet with his blood.

So much blood.

Chuck breathed in and out roughly in an attempt to push away the nausea knitting his stomach. He eased when it became clear that Kate had been right about the philter.

Roman O’Moran released Julia Capone as if burned, his expression one of strained incomprehension. Seeing as escaping would be difficult, Capone led O’Moran to take refuge out on the balcony and closed the sliding doors behind them. She would probably have to fight off a few other hugs, but they should be safe.

Trying to get his eyes back on Kate, Chuck couldn’t find her. Instead, when he looked outside, he saw Sarah reaching the suite. Innhood unfortunately chose this moment to get out of his lover’s grasp; he moved to welcome Sarah. She launched a roundhouse kick at Innhood, disarming him. The stocky man obviously had a bodyguard for a good reason, other than dating him, that was: Innhood seemed as good at hand-to-hand combat as Chuck was. Clinton became enraged as he watched Sarah dispose of his boss/lover. Chuck flinched at the knock the bodyguard sent Sarah’s way next. She groaned, but managed to block the next punch, backhanded, and overbalanced her opponent.

Kate reappeared in the camera’s field of vision. She straightened up from where she’d apparently squatted down near the sofas. And she carried the crossbow.

_Stay in the room, Chuck._

Chuck repeated the order to himself like a mantra as he watched Kate slipping out of the room with the Valentine. He mumbled to himself nervously.

_Frak it._

Looking around him, Chuck caught sight of a PDA. He transferred access to the video surveillance on the device. The process didn’t take him long; the team had worked on the same material before. Pausing briefly at the door, Chuck reconsidered.

Sarah and Casey were going to kill him if they survived this mess.

Torn, Chuck glanced back behind him. On the table, he saw a couple of guns where Casey had taken his, moments before. After the unfortunate incident where Sarah had been locked inside the Wienerlicious freezer a few weeks ago—and where Chuck had been unable to free her with the help of a gun—she had showed her asset a few things, like where the safety was and such. Chuck had only watched, both he and Sarah hadn’t been as bold as to let him touch a firearm again, but he had watched carefully.

Chuck hesitantly emptied one gun’s magazine. Playing with a harmless weapon wouldn’t be a problem, but he couldn’t handle a real, loaded gun. Make-believe would have to be enough.

There wasn’t any hesitation when he got out of the room this time. While his partners fought off the others, Chuck dashed to catch up with Kate and the Valentine.

 

* * *

 

Chuck checked the video surveillance on his PDA. After heading for the second set of stairs, opposite the one next to the elevators on the seventh floor, Kate Dennis had descended a couple of flights to the fifth. She’d gone straight to another hotel room. Chuck had had to reconsider his first impression of the woman. She’d been well prepared, even if she didn’t show any hints of her bad-guy professionalism.

Kate was still inside. Chuck buried the PDA deep in his pocket and made sure nobody was around before seizing his empty gun. He’d realized getting out of Room 815 that wandering around with a gun, when a full-on Valentine’s Day party was happening downstairs, wasn’t a good idea. Come to think of it, it probably never was a good idea—especially for him.

As he tiptoed to the room, Chuck worked his fingers around the handle, trying to relax his grip. He needed to look as if he knew his way around a firearm. He stopped, listening at the door for voices. What if Kate wasn’t alone? Maybe he should just wait, keep an eye on her until Casey and Sarah arrived, make sure Kate didn’t leave. Exhaling slowly, Chuck weighed his options.

He needn’t bother. The door in front of him swung open.

“Charles?”

It was show time.

“Hi, Kate.” Chuck looked past her, over her shoulder, scanning the room: she was alone.

“What are you...” Kate trailed off, catching sight of his gun.

Mimicking the stance he had observed on Casey and Sarah numerous times, Chuck pointed the weapon at her. At least, he hoped he mimicked it. “Give me the crossbow.”

“Pardon me?” Kate asked. She was a good actress, feigning being frightened as well as puzzled.

Chuck paused as his earbud clinked and Sarah wanted to know what he was doing. She sounded out of breath. “Where are you?” she asked.

“Come on.” Chuck tried sounding calm and confident—both for Kate and for Sarah. “The crossbow. Is that what’s in the bag, Kate?”

Kate’s fingers tightened around the handle of her large handbag. She had exchanged her maroon dress for a maroon leather jacket and blue jeans. Her hair had gone up. Her high heels were gone and she had boots on now. No doubt she’d been on her way to sneaking out of the hotel, unperturbed. “Who are you?” she asked.

“Just the person you’re gonna give this crossbow to,” Chuck said, remembering the way Le Golas had answered Innhood’s questions earlier. “Step back.”

To Chuck’s inward surprise, she did.

“You’ve associated yourself with the wrong crowd, I’m afraid, Ms. Dennis. Now hand over the weapon.”

Obviously faltering after Chuck had casually dropped her last name, Kate’s eyes darted around them as she bit her lower lip.

“Damn it,” Sarah hissed in Chuck’s ear, “what are you _doing_!”

“It doesn’t have to get ugly.” Chuck took a careful step forward. “I just want the crossbow. You give it to me and I’ll let you go.” Another step. “Simple as that.”

Standstill, Kate regarded him. Chuck wasn’t sure if she was actually intimidated by the gun and didn’t want to make brisk motions, or if it was all part of her acting. Maybe she was playing him for time, sizing him up, who knew what she might have in store. Kate couldn’t find out he was a fraud. So Chuck mustered all the acting chops he’d learned during his high-school production of _Fiddler on the Roof_ —Kate wasn’t the only who could act, Chuck had been quite good playing Perchik, if he could say so himself.

“Give. Me. The damned Valentine.”

His rigid tone, coupled with the mention of the weapon’s name, seemed to do the trick. Kate zipped the bag open.

“Careful,” Chuck warned, but she didn’t try any funny business and drew out the crossbow. Chuck reached out with his free hand to grab it.

Kate chose this moment to let her eyes flicker down at the gun.

Chuck followed her gaze…and realized he hadn’t taken the safety off! Sarah was going to kill him. A second time.

Moving the back of her left forearm as if to parry an attack, Kate overturned Chuck’s right arm. His ploy found out, the gun wasn’t of any use anymore and he let it fall, hoping that it would distract Dennis. Plucking the crossbow, Chuck backpedaled quickly. He flung himself across the threshold and sprinted down the hallway.

Dennis leapt after him.

“Oooh, geez.”

“Chuck!?”

“Sarah! I have the crossbow,” he said. “Also, aaah—” Chuck fought for balance as he nearly tripped over himself. “Dennis is chasing me!”

Even if he had hurried when following Dennis, climbing up the stairs was a lot more demanding than climbing down had been. Perhaps Chuck should reconsider his policy on exercise and stop avoiding Captain Awesome’s invitations to participate in his future brother-in-law’s ideas of appropriate hobbies. Though, perhaps near-death rafting experiences, oxygen-sucking hiking, and vertigo-inducing parachuting were a bit excessive for him. Perhaps he should simply go jogging with Casey. Somehow that sounded worse. But Chuck always seemed to end up running from something.

 _Should have stayed in the ca—room_.

“I’m coming,” Sarah said. There was a ruffling sound next, and Chuck rubbed at his ear, resisting the urge to take off his earpiece. “Keep pressing here.” She muttered something else that Chuck couldn’t make out; he had no idea who she was talking to, but he decided that it must have been Agent Red, because it meant nobody else had gotten hurt. He didn’t want to think—couldn’t think of someone else—Sarah—getting hurt.

The staircase’s white walls passed by in a blur. The weight of the crossbow, though less heavy than he would have thought, kept throwing him off, therefore slowing him down.

“Chuck?” Sarah said, when she resumed addressing him. “Tell me where you are!”

Chuck didn’t know what he’d been thinking—if he’d been thinking at all. Instincts must have led him back to his handlers, because for whatever reason, he rushed out of the staircase, back on the seventh floor.

Right into the fight.

_Good thinking, Chuck._

The sentiment was only emphasized by his coming face to face with the man whose temple was scarred. The man had just as came out of the elevator. It was just Chuck’s luck.

 _Typical_ , he thought.

“I’m—” Chuck tried to tell Sarah.

“Stop him!” Dennis shouted.

“—I’m on your floor.” Chuck barely dodged Innhood’s man’s grasp. He almost came to a halt when, in the process, he got a glimpse of Oliveira throwing Casey into a wall further down the hallway. The agent rammed into a lampshade. It fell down in a glassy cacophony. Despite all his warning bells telling him to do differently, Chuck had no choice but to flit in Casey and Oliveira’s direction.

He didn’t make it three steps.

A large hand flattened on the back of his shirt, knocking the air out of Chuck’s lungs—and _gripped_.

Chuck was sure that he heard the fabric rip, even as his collar tried to strangle him. He almost tipped backward with the pulling of his shirt, but his pursuer must have misjudged his own speed for the man stumbled into Chuck’s back. His shirt’s collar finally loosened. Screaming, Chuck sprawled forward to the floor with the impact, followed in his wake by his pursuer. As the man fell on top of him, Chuck felt the PDA in his pocket attempting to break his hip. A knee pounded down on his shin. An elbow stabbed his back. And he had a far-off notion of letting go of the beloved crossbow.

It all hurt.

Despite the _buzz_ of the blood rushing in his head, Chuck heard an unmistakable _click_ ; closely followed by the alarming _swoosh_ of a bolt; and then Casey grunting.

_Uh-oh._

Chuck looked up, tracing the aim of the weapon. _Frak king Hell. _He forgot all about his pain.

Chuck had shot _Casey_. In the ass. With a crossbow.

Worst Clue game, ever!

Intersect or not, Casey was definitely going to kill him for this. Not only that, but now Chuck’s handler was also going to fall madly in love with Oliveira.

Chuck was _so_ dead.

For what felt as long as waiting on iTunes to finish updating, everything around Chuck stilled. The guard behind him ceased squirming. The sound of what Chuck assumed had been Dennis’s scuttle skidded to a halt. Casey himself froze—and that wasn’t his style to be stalled by a little dart. All stopped for the longest time to see Casey’s reaction to the philter. Oliveira even seemed to preen, but Chuck thought he might be delusional at that point.

Shooting Casey in the ass could be a hallucination, right?

Sarah broke out the charm, pushing motion back to play, as she sprung out of Dennis’s suite. It prompted Casey to snatch and throw away the apparently half-assed dart.

Chuck better never voice such thoughts aloud if he wanted to hold on hope of living a decent life.

The bolt dismissed as a mere nuisance, Casey fought Oliveira with renewed motivation. On his end, Chuck crawled under the weight of Innhood’s man, who rolled to the side. Chuck stretched out and landed his hand on the crossbow. He wasn’t going to let it go now. Not after risking everything and—accidentally—shooting Casey.

In the ass.

It had to be some kind of nightmare, right?

Reality came back to crush him as a heel planted on the back of Chuck’s hand. He squealed and looked up, following the boot, the leg, the woman: it was Kate Dennis.

“Hi,” Chuck croaked.

Dennis’s mouth snarled.

“You can take it,” Chuck said. “Please, take it.” He shut his eyes under the acute ache, his mind going blank and out of options. He really was an idiot.

The next thing Chuck registered was the heaving of Dennis’s shoe. The woman howled in pain. And Sarah cried out one of her ninja/kung-fu sounds.

_Sarah!_

If there was anyone who would save Chuck from this—and hopefully Casey’s wrath later on—it was her. Of course, it was her.

Chuck’s eyes snapped open to the view of Dennis’s stunned figure on the floor. He propped himself on his forearms and craned his neck so he could see Sarah. She had a look of—slightly wicked—satisfaction on her face, gazing down at Dennis. Then cold washed over Chuck when he saw her dress. It was covered in blood.

“Sarah…”

She looked down at herself. Before she could talk, Chuck felt Innhood’s man move against his leg. He glanced back over his shoulder; the man was lifting himself. Or, he tried. Sarah’s foot impacted against the man’s scar as she kicked him in the face, knocking him unconscious in turn. Chuck wheezed at the shock.

Sarah immediately crouched down. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?”

“It’s not mine,” she said, motioning at her ruined gown.

Chuck knew he shouldn’t be _that_ relieved that it was someone else’s blood—Agent Red’s, maybe—because whoever had lost it couldn’t be in good shape at the moment. He was relieved just the same. He flattened his forehead against his biceps, breathing hard, before realizing that he should really breathe somewhere else than on the carpet beneath him.

Sarah’s hand had drifted to the back of Chuck’s neck when a familiar grunt drew their attention. They watched Casey finish with Oliveira.

The philter had _not_ softened the NSA agent. At all.

Out cold, Oliveira collapsed in an uncontrolled heap of limbs; and Casey whirled around.

Chuck gulped at the expression of rage on his handler’s face. “Um,” he told Sarah, nervously. “I’m okay now, but I’m not sure I’m gonna stay that way.”

 

* * *

 

“How are we doing, Roman?” Chuck asked, not moving his eyes off the monitor.

“Um,” the young man paused, “fine.” He sounded neither convinced, nor convincing, so Chuck glanced behind him, to one of Room 815’s corners.

Roman O’Moran sat upright on a chair. The young man’s gaze flickered opposite to him, to the bed on which Julia Capone rested. Her legs stopped bouncing up and down. She averted her eyes, looking everywhere but at her former co-captive. Julia had been comprehensively uncomfortable by his almost-constant attention.

Roman’s jaw set. From the strain in his manner, it was obvious that he was engaged in an internal battle with the Valentine’s philter. Looking down, he seemed to remember the plastic bottle he was holding and sipped some more water.

“How long is this going to take?” Julia asked again, now that her head was clear.

Irrespective of their families’ criminal activities—maybe Roman and Julia weren’t in any way involved in their father’s affairs—both freed hostages had been in shock when Sarah had finally convinced them that the situation was under the control of government agents. In addition to the whole events inside Kate Dennis’s suite, they had been kidnapped in Chicago separately the night before, held captive (and transported here) together, and Julia almost fainted when she learned she was in L.A. Chuck hadn’t understood all the details, but debriefing them would be some agent’s job, not his. Despite the stupor, Sarah managed to lead them off the balcony without hiccup, reassuring them that they were safe for good.

With Agent Sterling busy taking care of his injured partner’s evacuation, Casey and Sarah had had to secure all the bad guys by themselves. And that had made for a good count: Robert Innhood; his bodyguard Bart Clinton; the arms dealer’s other two men, one tranqued by Casey, the other knocked out by Sarah; Joel Le Golas; Quinn Oliveira; the two men who had brought Roman and Julia; and finally, Kate Dennis. Needless to say, Casey and Sarah’s hands had been full and they hadn’t had much time to “babysit shaken gang kids,” per Casey’s words.

Casey hadn’t been in the mood to accommodate time either. He’d been pissed—mostly at Chuck. That was why it had been decreed that Chuck would take the hostages back in Room 815 and wait with them for agents and a medical team to take over. At least that was what Sarah had said. Casey’s words had been more along the line of “You better get out of my sight, numbnuts.” In order to make his task sound better, he suspected, Sarah had also asked Chuck to look for the elevator couple’s room number on the video surveillance, so the two guinea pigs could be checked on, alongside Roman, Clinton, and Casey.

Chuck looked back at the monitor where he’d been following Sarah’s steps. She’d left to fetch the elevator couple after Chuck had given her their coordinates. Chuck checked the time. “They’re on the way,” he replied to Julia. “It really shouldn’t be much longer.”

He couldn’t find Sarah on screen anymore, but Chuck relaxed when she came in shortly thereafter. She let the elevator couple in. They seemed fine, if a little disheveled. They also looked embarrassed, which Chuck took as a good sign.

“Everything okay, here?” Sarah asked, once she’d finished making introductions. Chuck supposed that she was trying to ease them all.

“Roman’s holding up great,” Chuck said, offering the young man a supportive smile.

Sarah nodded and her eyes went up as something must have come through her earpiece. She announced that EMTs were downstairs and agents were coming up to retrieve and accompany all of them safely. She had clearly already explained to the elevator couple what would happen next, just like she’d instructed Chuck to do with Roman and Julia, because nobody questioned her further. They were still nervous—and jittery—but they didn’t look too apprehensive. Chuck understood the feeling; Sarah had that reassuring-while-still-intimidating effect on him as well.

“How’s your hand?” Sarah asked.

He hadn’t realized he was doing so, but Chuck immediately stopped kneading the back of his bruised hand. Dennis’s boot heel had left a trace. Lifting his palm in the air, he made a show of clenching and unclenching his fist, saying bravely, “All in working order.”

It just hurt like hell. Even more than his hand’s last Wii-related collision with something; and Wii injuries always hurt a lot. Sarah had examined it, however, and said that she agreed not to get him to the hospital unless it wouldn’t look any better the next day.

“What’s Casey doing?” Chuck asked, changing topic with a whisper.

Sarah stepped closer, leaning against the surveillance table beside him, her shoulders loosening. “He’s still doing interrogations, before they’re all dealt with.”

“Is that really a good idea?” Chuck asked. “What if the philter has a belated effect on him?”

Sarah gave him a pointed look. Chuck would have tended to agree with her: it was unlikely that Casey would get affected by a love potion. It seemed ludicrous. It was _Casey_. Until barely a couple of months ago, Chuck hadn’t even been sure the big guy felt emotions at all. Still, Chuck knew Casey did have some feelings. Sometimes. Somewhere deep down. So he said, “It could happen.”

“Even if it does,” Sarah said and her eyes told Chuck that she was certain it wouldn’t, “Agent Sterling’s with him.”

Chuck nodded and chewed on his lip. “How much trouble am I in?”

His question made Sarah smile. “Depends on how much steam he blows off during his interrogations.” Chuck grimaced and Sarah chuckled. “Don’t worry, from what I heard from Dennis, you’ll be fine.”

“Walker? Bartowski?” came Casey’s dry voice.

Chuck didn’t dare replying; he let Sarah do it. “Yeah, Casey?”

“Once the agents arrive, meet me at the van, we’re done here.”

Sarah copied.

“I guess we won’t be going back to that free booze, huh?” Chuck hadn’t been holding his breath, obviously. Even if by some miracle, he could have gone back and Sarah had been willing to come with, she couldn’t have. Unless the party theme had changed to “Carrie at the prom,” Sarah’s dress was a little bit too bloodied for the Arrowed Hearts gala. Chuck would never find out how much it swirled while dancing.

“I’m afraid so,” Sarah said.

Chuck sighed dramatically. “Now I’m starting to regret not getting any of that philter, instead,” he joked. “Would have taken the mind off things.”

Though they’d been politely pretending not to be listening in on Chuck and Sarah’s conversation, Chuck couldn’t help but note that the elevator couple seemed to agree with him about the philter. Roman, conversely, not so much.

 

* * *

 

Chuck had a feeling he really could have used a drink or two for the ride home—even one sour, wince-inducing martini. Judging by the way Casey had jolted the van into gear and drove out of its parking space like he was playing _Grand Theft Auto_ , the NSA agent still had steam to blow off.

Chuck gripped the seat in front of him one-handed, trying to maintain his position in the large space at the back of the van. In his other hand, he still carried the Valentine suitcase that Casey had thrust roughly at him when Chuck and Sarah had joined the third member of their team. While agents were taking care of the hostages, philter-infected people, and apprehended bad guys, Team Intersect was to take back the Valentine to a secure governmental location on their way home. Since his bruised hand ached by clutching the handle, Chuck carefully placed the suitcase flat on the board to his left, even as he decided that if they were going to be jerked around by Casey’s driving, he might as well poke the bear a little. Chuck was never good at keeping quiet anyway.

“So, what did Dennis say?” he asked. “How come the philter didn’t work on you, Casey?”

In the passenger seat, Sarah twisted her neck to gape—ever so slowly—at Chuck. She flashed him a look between contained amusement, careful warning, and slight exasperation, all rolled up into one. Her eyes were that skilled. Chuck grinned at her with a nonchalant shrug.

In contrast, Chuck saw, Casey’s bandaged knuckles clenched around the steering wheel. “Bartowski…”

“I said I was sorry a giga-times already,” he said. Sarah shook her head, but Chuck was sure she was stifling a smile too. “I’m sorry I got you shot, Casey.”

“You didn’t _get_ me shot. You _shot_ me.”

“By accident,” Chuck reminded him. Though it made all the difference in Chuck’s book, Casey didn’t seem to care about that detail. Even so, neither of Chuck’s handlers had killed him despite his leaving the room alone to go after Dennis, and his subsequent unfortunate actions, so Chuck could consider himself lucky. Especially since the team had also successfully fulfilled its mission, without (much) casualties—news of Agent Redshirtington’s state coming from the hospital were good, Sarah had told Chuck. The excitement of it all might be the reason why Chuck felt strangely courageous with his taunting, and he added, as if anyone would forget, “In the ass.”

Casey’s growl was so low-pitched and deep, Chuck wouldn’t have thought such a sound was humanly possible. Still rocking in every direction with Casey’s piloting, Chuck put some distance between him and his handlers, burying deeper into his seat to get more support—and stay out of reach of Casey.

“You know I couldn’t have made that… _good_ a shot if I’d wanted to,” Chuck said. He quickly carried on, so as not to let Casey speak. “Plus the philter doesn’t even require an antidote. All in all, I’d say it was simply an inconsequential occupational hazard.”

“Only when working with an incompetent—

“Moron?”

“—dumbass like you.”

Chuck ignored the usual barb. “It ought to be explained, though.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Casey said, wryly. “I’m an agent for the United States government, a little love potion isn’t going to affect me.”

Following a rough turn, the corner of the Valentine suitcase jabbed into Chuck’s upper arm. Curious, Chuck turned to it. A quick, closer look at the crossbow couldn’t hurt, right? Casey had said not to, but if Chuck kept talking, his handlers wouldn’t even notice and nobody would ever know.

“But how?” Chuck asked, opening the suitcase carefully. “I doubt the formula contains something about not affecting secret agents? Are you trained to resist love potions?” He said it jokingly, but when he didn’t get an answer right away, Chuck looked up from the suitcase. “Are you?”

He saw Casey and Sarah trade a look. “Kind of,” Sarah said, after another moment. “Casey and I can handle a number of chemicals.”

A number of chemicals? They’d been infected by Pentothal not so long ago. Chuck had read on Wikipedia that the reliability of the truth serum was questionable—he’d thought maybe there was a small hope that it wasn’t entirely true when Sarah had said that their thing under the undercover thing wasn’t ever going anywhere. Perhaps there had been a subtlety in the way he’d asked the question. Perhaps Sarah was just too darn good at her job to “compromise”—as spies liked to say—the Intersect mission. Perhaps… _something_. But if Sarah had been trained to resist the drug, then her answer was most definitely unreliable.

“What about the Pentothal?” he asked.

In that usual exasperation Casey exhibited around Chuck—and most people—the agent snapped, “Not all chemicals.”

 _Of course not_ , Chuck thought, and he turned back to the Valentine’s suitcase. The crossbow had been dismantled inside the suitcase. There was a series of bolt arranged in a row on one side. Chuck ran his hands over them before grabbing one and surveying it.

“But from the information we got out of Dennis,” Sarah carried on, “we’re not worried about the philter in Casey’s case.”

“How does it even work?” Chuck asked, spotting a glossy piece of thick card stock hanging from the lid of the suitcase. “And what were they hoping to do with it? Setting up Cupid’s Agency?”

“You’re not far-off, actually. Le Golas’s a businessman, legitimate or not, and he saw an opportunity to make money. Using something like the Valentine is a great, quiet way to distract someone, or lead them to agree to something. Le Golas was planning on selling that as a service. His little demonstration on Roman and Julia was good business too, because his beef with their fathers is apparently well-known in his circle.”

Chuck listened with one ear, while he read the card stock. “Oh, Dennis even made a brochure!” he said. The paper explained how one liquid played on enhancing feelings of attraction, physical or otherwise—Dennis insisted on the notion of “enhancement” as feelings wouldn’t be completely made up out of thin air by the philter. The other liquid played on self-consciousness, making people bolder, less resistant to impulses, more inclined to seduce—and being seduced.

“What are you doing?” Sarah asked. “Chuck, _no_.”

He looked up ahead at Sarah first, before seeing Casey glaring at him in the rearview mirror. “I’m just reading.” Neither agent was inclined to let him do so: Sarah repeated not to touch the suitcase, while Casey kept looking daggers at him.

Then the van jerked once more. It swerved, making Casey grunt as he veered the vehicle back into line.

“Ow,” Chuck whined at the pricking sensation in his finger.

_Uh-oh._

_Again_.

“What is it?” Sarah asked.

“Um,” Chuck said, “don’t freak out, but…”

“What’d you do?” Casey growled.

“It’s possible a bolt slipped out of my hand, and—”

“Tell me you didn’t,” Casey cut him off.

“It’s not my fault!” Chuck said. “You’re the one reenacting _Fast and Furious_ over there!”

“You had to play with the shiny toy!” Casey said through his teeth. “I told you not to open it! But no, you just had to! A child! The government is paying me to babysit a damned, idiotic _child_!”

Casey claimed to babysit so many times, he should write “nanny” on his resume.

Neither Chuck nor Sarah paid attention to Casey’s continual angry muttering. Sarah slipped to the back of the van, joining her asset. “Show me that!”

“Walker,” Casey warned. Chuck wasn’t sure what the warning was about, but it made Sarah hesitate for a split second. Casey lifted a dismissive hand at her look. “Yeah, probably can’t be worse.”

Sarah rolled her eyes in disapproval.

“Worse than what?” Chuck asked.

“Nothing,” Sarah said, snatching the bolt out of his hand, before studying it. “You’ll be fine, it’s not loaded.”

“Are you sure?”

“There’s no liquid in—no, wait.” Chuck squinted in the gloom of the back of the van and saw a line appear between Sarah’s eyebrows. “There’s only the translucent liquid in it.”

“Good grief!” Casey said. “You can’t even inject yourself correctly.”

“Ha-ha. I can’t help it if it malfunctioned. Or if you drive like a maniac,” Chuck said. “Which one is it?” He asked the last question out loud, but it wasn’t directed at Sarah. He looked over the brochure again.

“Which one what?” Sarah asked.

“The translucent liquid, it’s…” It was the feeling-enhancer one, he read. Even if, contrary to Casey, the semi-philter did affect Chuck, he wouldn’t be compelled to do anything about it. Not be compelled any more than usual anyway. So…he likely wouldn’t act on his increased emotions. Chuck had mastered not doing anything about his feelings.

Sarah leaned closer to read with him. “It’s?” she asked.

Chuck explained quickly, so that Sarah and her ungodly scent wouldn’t stay too close, too long.

“It still could be a problem,” she said, worried, “if it’s still at play in the morning. How long—”

“Nah,” Casey said and paused, as though thinking it over. He’d been the one interrogating Dennis. Casey eventually snorted. “Won’t make much of a difference,” he said, his snort transforming into a loud sigh. “He’ll be his fine self tomorrow, annoying as ever.”

  

* * *

 

Chuck felt anything but fine. The afterglow of a successful mission was gone; and only the Valentine’s Day sorrow was left in its place—accompanied by physical weariness. The evening’s wait, stress, and running around had caught up to him, to say nothing of Casey’s constant grumbling and (quite rude) comments vis-à-vis Chuck, which were draining after a while, even with Chuck and Sarah’s practice at it. Chuck was sore, battered, and worn out.

And to think that he’d freed his morning to sleep in and get some rest. That was one lunch with Sarah he had sacrificed today for nothing.

In spite of the fatigue, Chuck couldn’t bring himself to rise from the couch, where he’d slouched down after his shower, and go to bed.

He knew his sister and her fiancé were already on their way back to the hospital. Ellie and Awesome had chosen to work on this Thursday night, but they’d managed to get their Friday and the rest of the weekend off instead. They were leaving for Napa in the morning, where they’d enjoy a well-deserved Valentine’s Day/engagement celebration weekend. It meant that if they didn’t catch Chuck tonight, they wouldn't have time to grill him about the gala until after the weekend. He hoped.

Just to stay on the safe side, Sarah had come back with Chuck to his apartment. Considering their cover story, Ellie and Awesome would find it strange for Chuck and Sarah not to spend the night together after going out to a Valentine’s Day party. Knowing Awesome, Chuck’s future brother-in-law wouldn’t let it go unmentioned either. Casey had also pointed out, very amused, that it would be better for someone to stay with Chuck because of the incident in the van. Chuck couldn't believe he’d needled himself! And he shouldn’t think of it in those terms because needles made him squeamish.

Chuck rubbed the hand he’d pricked because of Casey’s callous driving against his sweatpants. He mumbled an “Ow” when he inadvertently touched the PDA’s impression on his hip. The reminder should be his cue. Right now, Sarah was in the bathroom—she’d insisted that Chuck go first and he’d been too tired to fight her on it—and Chuck really needed to get his ass in his bedroom if he wanted to avoid his sister.

Yet, he wasn’t in a hurry to enclose himself in his room, with Sarah, on Valentine’s Day. With his luck, she’d be wearing another revealing nightgown, to add to the level of torture. How screwed up his situation was for Chuck to be dreading such a thing? “A lot” didn’t start to cover it.

“How are you feeling?” Sarah’s voice came up behind him.

“All right.” Even his voice sounded weak. Chuck mustered an effort to stretch and place on the coffee table the water bottle that Sarah had ordered him to down. He pushed on both his hands, standing up like an old man, feeling numb and raw. “I really don’t feel any different.”

Chuck froze. He inwardly cursed himself for doing so. And he tried desperately to reboot as quickly as possible.

Sarah, standing by the kitchen bar, wasn’t wearing another revealing nightgown. She wore Chuck’s blue “Video games saved my life. Good thing I have two extra lives” t-shirt—along with her _panties_. Holy hot damn Batman! Her make-up was gone. She had a slight cut on the left side of her forehead. Chuck could see it because her hair was up in a messy ponytail that still looked amazing. There was a faint discoloration at her/his shirt collar, as well as a not-so-faint—enormous, in fact—bruise on her left thigh. Sarah shifted her marked limb, probably sensing his gaze.

Chuck couldn’t decide whether he was the most fortunate man on earth or the most doomed ever. But who was he kidding?

Boy, was she a sight for sore eyes.

“Are you sure?” Sarah asked, studying him.

“Yeah,” Chuck heard himself say.

Looking down at the t-shirt’s inscription, Sarah said, “I helped myself in your closet. Sorry.”

“N-no.” Chuck cleared his throat. “It’s fine. _I_ ’m sorry I didn’t think about it.” She offered him a smile and he tried to regain enough energy to walk. “I’m sorry about this all; you shouldn’t have to deal with Awesome and Ellie after a night like this.”

Sarah’s look reminded Chuck of their earlier talk by the hotel’s elevator. Chuck expected her to tell him that cover sleepovers were part of her job too, just as much as their espionage missions. Not to mention, she would add to make him feel better, that it wasn’t his fault anyway; Chuck hadn’t chosen to be the Intersect. But she didn’t say any of these things. “Don’t forget your jacket,” Sarah said instead.

Following the finger she pointed with, Chuck spotted the clothes laid on the back of the couch. He tucked the jacket over his arm, before walking down the hallway with Sarah, switching lights behind them. The t-shirt Sarah had on had been an interesting choice, Chuck thought. Maybe she’d selected it to match with the blue of her panties, just like her cocktail dress had been; and the hearts representing the gaming lives maintained the evening’s theme. Somehow it fitted. Also, somehow it was hot—hotter than usual—because anything nerdy associated with Sarah was. In all likelihood, Chuck concluded, it had been the first t-shirt on the pile.

Entering his bedroom, he saw Sarah’s mouth twist slightly at one end. “About,” she said, breaking cadence, “what you said earlier. I don’t…I do enjoy myself when we go out. I did tonight.”

“Well, there was some shooting.” Chuck chuckled, but it sounded mirthless to him. “Sort of.”

Sarah paused. He had a feeling she was choosing her words carefully. “Even without counting the shooting—”

“And the Bruce Lee hand-to-hand.”

“And that.” She shrugged. “It was fun.”

Chuck delayed his answer by placing his jacket on the back of his desk chair. He wasn’t sure what he should say—if anything. In his inside pocket, he caught sight of the rose that he’d stolen at the gala. “It was,” he agreed, while pondering.

 _Oh, well, what the hell?_ Chuck thought.

Sarah slid down beneath the covers on her side of the bed, propped against the headboard. He walked to do the same on his side, drawing a deep, silent breath, and said, “Here,” extending her the red flower.

Chuck sensed Sarah’s hesitation as she gazed down at his offering first, then back at him, and back to the flower again.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Chuck said, feeling his throat narrowing on him.

For a few seconds, half-stopped in his sitting down, the rose still in hand and one leg dangling off the bed, Chuck wondered if he’d made a mistake. Was he out of line, giving her this? He hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable, but Sarah wasn’t moving.

Chuck braced himself for another rebuttal. Another reminder that they were _cover_ dating; that, right this instant, there wasn’t any cover to put up for anyone to see; that Chuck was her asset and Sarah was his handler.

Just like moments ago in his living room, though, Sarah didn’t voice any of those things that Chuck knew too well. She took the flower, slowly, as if careful not to brush her fingers against his. And then, she smiled—a real smile, he could tell. Her eyes were brilliant. Chuck felt a light sensation of dizziness coming from the pit of his stomach.

“Thanks,” she said simply.

Chuck only nodded, shuffling to finish bedding down. As he did, Sarah watching her red rose beside him, Chuck finally realized what Casey had meant in the van. Cupid hadn’t missed his shot at Chuck. The translucent-liquid half of the philter hadn’t done anything to him—because it couldn’t do anything to him.

From the corner of his eye, Chuck covertly watched Sarah placing the rose on the nightstand. He stilled, heart suddenly pounding in his chest, when Sarah leaned in on his side. Her right hand mildly pushed on his shoulder for support. Sarah kissed his cheek.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Chuck. Good night.”

Her murmur resonated in his head as Sarah drew back. Her hand left a warm imprint through the fabric of his shirt. Chuck stayed put as lights switched off and the mattress billowed, not willing to break the spell and the tingling sensation on his cheek.

“G’night,” he said.

No, the Valentine’s philter couldn’t have changed anything. No love potion could do that. No enhancing of feelings could occur, because Chuck knew. Even Casey knew. Anyone aware of Chuck’s situation and having spent time with him would likely _know_.

Chuck Bartowski was already well on his way to falling in love with Sarah Walker.

 

  **The End.**


End file.
